Respite
by JustAsSane
Summary: During War we all find comfort where we can. M for coarse language and mentions of sex.


**It's been a long time since I posted anything, and I actually only just recently tried to get more serious about writing more, hence why this little drabble came along.**

**Any mistakes are my own .**

**Let me know what you guys think!**

**~JAS**

They lay there, in the silence that usually pervaded the room after their coupling, their chests rising and falling in tandem with the other, their hands with palms facing down against the rumpled sheets - their pinkies that had started by barely brushing had somehow evolved into their fingers being tangled together, pale white from the grip they had on each other. Neither of them had spoken, had dared to break the fragile silence between them. Unless you counted the string of expletives that Daphne had whispered into her ear as she reached her peak.

But Hermione didn't. Those were just words whispered into the ether, words that didn't matter at the end of the day, not really at least.

It wasn't usually like this.

_They_ weren't usually like this.

They had rules, strict guidelines they followed because this could never be more than what it _was_: a respite from the war that ravaged the world around them. Fuck buddies, that was okay, but when emotions got involved it complicated everything. It ruined missions, it made you distracted in battle. It made you _exploitable_.

They never stayed longer than was needed to put clothes back on. They never talked about their arrangement, choosing instead to communicate with sly glances over the dining table in Grimmauld Place. Sometimes, after a particularly rough mission, they didn't even make eye contact they just instinctively knew.

Hermione knew things had changed, that her subconscious had entirely fucked them over, but it was something in the way the other woman pulled her strings, pulled thoughts from the deepest recesses of her mind that she hadn't ever dated give the time of day, the way she coaxed words out from the pit of her stomach over the tip of her tongue only to be whispered in the throws of passion.

She couldn't help it, everything about the other girl fascinated her. From the way her toes curled as she climaxed, to the thighs that were deceptively strong when they wrapped around her waist, to the fingers that left trails of goosebumps in their wake, her wicked tongue that curled enticingly around the French language she had been forced to learn, all the way to her nose that crinkled in a way that made her heart flutter when she smiled or laughed.

The part of Daphne that fascinated her the most though was her hair that always seemed to be so well kept. Her own hair was all righteous curls and completely untamable, and after Daphne ran her fingers through it it looked even more so and no matter how many times Daphne claimed to love the fierceness of it she couldn't help but feel envious when the blondes hair always looked perfectly styled. It was silky and smooth as it hung down in curtains around their faces, when it was fanned across a pillow or sheets, when it was crushed between her fingers in a tight hold.

In the sunlight it lit up like the sun itself, so pale blonde it was almost white and several times she often wondered if there was a relation to the Malfoy's somewhere in her line and there probably was, what with all that sacred 28 bullshite. She almost snorted in a completely embarrassing manner just thinking about it. At night is when she loved it the most, when it had an ethereal glow to it, seemingly a light source all on its own, lighting up her soft features whenever Hermione gazed at her.

She adored every inch of it down to the very roots where it was just a shade or two darker than the rest, something that was only noticeable if you spent hours staring at that head of hair, maybe while she leaned over a text studying ancient languages, maybe while she dozed on a lumpy couch with her head in your lap or maybe while she went down on you and you couldn't help but stare at that head of hair because of how right it all felt.

But it was different now. She felt it in the very air that was trapped in the room with them and she longed to say something, to just speak to the other woman next to her but the courage her house was so well known for failed her in those minutes, in those hours that lay there together drawing comfort from their knotted fingers.

Daphne, with her eerily impeccable timing spoke first, "You broke the rules." Her voice was raspy, almost the way it sounded when she woke in the mornings.

Hermione let out a breathy laugh, "Well, I never really was fond of rules."

"Everything's going to be different now," she whispered, her hand turning to properly hold the brunettes, "but I think things have been different for quite a while now."

Hermione hummed in response, the pit in her stomach that had been a constant reminder of why she never hoped for anything more than what they _were_, was replaced by overzealous butterflies that wreaked havoc on her nerves. In a good way.

Neither of them spoke as the dark began to fall and creep its way up the walls, neither of them had too because they just knew like they always did, and for now it was enough.


End file.
